In Passing
by Shiho Hahnenfuss
Summary: [deayza ss] Years after the end of Destiny, Dearka watches as Yzak deals with loss once more. Slash up to personal interpretation.


**Disclaimer: **Gundam SEED and all its characters, mecha, worlds and other components belong to someone else. I own a little handphone tag thing.  
**  
****A/N: **A ficlet of sorts, written for the DeaYza LJ community's Secret Santa 2005 Project. For iceblue1389, but the plot bunny itself had been tugging at me for a while now.

**Warnings: **Angst, character death.**  
**

**In Passing**

Awake for seventy-two hours and counting.

That was what the director informed him, but Dearka knew it had been longer than that. The call had gone through at least four days ago, during Yzak's ten-fifteen a.m. cleanup; he'd been attempting to balance the receiver on a shoulder with a knife on the board and a fistful of greens, only to miss severing a finger by a hair's breadth as he dropped both phone and cutter at once.

Thinking back on it, he half-wished he'd waited until the other man was done with his shower to tell him the news.

He hadn't come home since then.

+

The door whispered behind his back as it slid shut, barely audible above the beeps and hisses of monitoring equipment in the room. He moved to stand beside the other man, slumped in a chair as utilitarian as its occupant, and rested a palm on his shoulder.

He wasn't sure if the muscle was taut from mental stress or physical. Maybe both. It relaxed with some gentle pressure from his hand, in any case.

"How is she?"

Yzak spared him a red-eyed glance before turning back to the figure in the bed.

"...not good."

_beep. beep. beep._

"The doc gave me a once-over; something about internal organ function deteriorating, low blood cell counts..."

_beep. beep. beep._

"Age."

"...what?"

"She's dying of _age_, Dearka." Pale fingers fisted, creasing lines into immaculate trousers. "A _Coordinator_ with the best medical technology in PLANT at her disposal, and she's dying of the one thing not even our 'perfect' genes can _fight_..."

He choked on the last word despite himself.

"Ironic, how she's going by a _natural_ death..."

_beep. beep. beep._

A steady arm pulled him close, supporting him.

"...at least you'll be beside her when she leaves..."

"...and be able to do absolutely nuts about it."

_beep. beep. beep._

"...there're some things even you can't change."

_beep. beep. beep._

"I know. And it fucking _sucks_--"

_beeeeeeeee..._

Yzak clutched at his partner's shirt, then, and cried long after the doctors ushered them out.

+

There wasn't much about the ceremony itself that he could recall.

Instead the preparations; calling Shiho at two in the morning to get the funeral arrangements done (cremation and burial, not consignment to space; yeah, a plot at Martius 5 if you can, thanks). Signing documents and registering official records of death with the hospital administration. Getting a priority line to Athrun to request his presence and Cagalli's at the proceedings, if they could make time on their schedules.

Trying to persuade Yzak to get at least an hour's rest. And failing, though at least he'd been able to get him to clean up before the funeral.

It was a relatively quiet affair, considering who she had been. Or perhaps it wasn't surprising that not many remembered or honored Ezaria Jule for much, save being Patrick Zala's accomplice in the first war. The squadron members had attended out of respect for their commander, the delegation from ORB from unspoken ties of friendship, a few politicians for the outward sympathy and subtle currying favor with the son of the deceased. Dearka had been tempted to throw the latter out, but a well-matured sense of restraint had held him back. Barely.

The only other thing he remembered was Yzak's brief meeting with his old rival, standing beside him before the grave.

_Maybe now,_ he said quietly, _I'm starting to understand what you went through._

A squeeze on the shoulder had been Athrun's forgiveness.

+

The drive home was quiet, the radio tuned to some classical music station and set on low volume. Dearka kept one hand on the wheel, the other alternating between changing gears and lightly brushing against his passenger's hand from time to time.

Yzak was looking out the window, watching the scenery flash by with an arm propped under his chin.

"...Dearka."

"Mm?"

"You'd better not die before I do."

"Not planning on it."

The car swerved gently around a bend, sunlight glancing off the dashboard.

"And you'd better do the same for me."

Yzak made a half-hearted sound of contempt. "You're the one who gets into those situations all the time."

"And you're the one," Dearka looked at him, "who's more likely to drop dead from tired."

"Feh."

They stopped in front of the apartment building. Dearka unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car, walking to the other side and helping Yzak with his; the man was nearly asleep on his feet when he stepped out. Dearka sighed and hefted him up into his arms, grunting slightly with the exertion as he made his way to the door. Yzak made no protest.

"You can't keep straining yourself." He fumbled for the keys in his pocket. "We're not as young as we used to be."

Yzak closed his eyes tiredly.

"...at least you're growing old too. With me."

"Naturally, Commander." And he smiled.

-end


End file.
